


Life Without Passion

by Blink_Blue



Series: Tumblr Prompts (Coliver) [16]
Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, IT guy!Connor, M/M, law student!Oliver
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-06-07 07:52:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6795604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blink_Blue/pseuds/Blink_Blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Role reversal with Oliver the insecure law student and who meets Connor the confident, playboy IT guy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Oliver takes a deep breath as he steps up the stairs of the gorgeous, historic building located in the center of campus. He glances up to admire the beautiful gold letters above the archway: _MIDDLETON LAW SCHOOL._ This is it, he thinks, as he straightens and adjusts the strap of his bag. Day one of law school. Time to find out if this was the worst decision of his life, or the best.

He looks around at the frenzied rush of students, trying to make it to their class on time. Luckily, his is in the main lecture hall on the first floor, so he takes his time, simply watching the crowd as it swarms around him. He shuffles nervously in his spot, hands shoved in his pockets as he glances at the faces around him. Everyone looks at least half a decade younger than him. It makes him feel even more self conscious than he does on a regular day.

Too bad it took him eight years to figure out that an office job isn’t all he wants to do with the rest of his life. He wasn’t happy, so he decided it was time to turn his life around. He signed up for the LSAT–and got a near perfect score. Though it seems the rest of it won’t be so easy. The snippets of conversation that he hears as he walks into the lecture hall is a clear indication of that.

_“I threw up four times this morning worried she was going to call on me.”_

_“She’s a ballbuster, sure, but I spent my summer interning for Chief Justice Roberts. So I know how to handle a big personality.”  
_

_“Dershowitz has the upper hand in the academic world, but Keating’s clearly the better defense attorney.”_

Eyes wide, Oliver looks around for students who seem to know what they’re doing. There’s a circle of students around the desk in the front of the room. Upon closer inspection, he discovers it’s a seating chart. The initial feeling of relief that he wouldn’t have to awkwardly ask a stranger _‘is this seat taken?’_ quickly fades upon the realization that he’s been randomly assigned to the first row. Just his luck.

He takes his seat next to a beautiful woman–with an enormous rock on her finger–twirling a highlight in her hand. He thinks conversation might be his best bet. Why not try to make friends on his first day?

“H-hi. I’m Oliver. First day jitters, huh?”

She doesn’t bother glancing up from her notebook. “Speak for yourself.”

“I–I guess I kind of was,” he laughs nervously. 

She finally glances up to get a good look at him. “Wow,” she says softly. “You have no idea what you just walked into, do you?”

He doesn’t get a chance to respond because the front doors of the lecture hall burst open, and the room quickly falls quiet as their professor moves to the front of the room, elegant and dangerous, like a shark through water.

“Good morning. I don’t know what terrible things you’ve done in your life up to this point, but clearly your karma’s out of balance to get assigned to my class. I’m Professor Annalise Keating, and this is Criminal Law 100, or as I prefer to call it… _how to get away with murder_.


	2. The Aspirin Assassin

_“… Step one: discredit the witness.”_

He thinks maybe he should feel envious. Or impressed, maybe? Looking around the room, that’s certainly the consensus he’s getting. The obnoxious one–Millstone–he’s practically glaring at the smirk on Michaela’s face. Some of the others stare in awe, but most are bitter, having accepted the realization that the trophy is far beyond their reach.

But Oliver doesn’t want the trophy. Well, he _does_ , as much as anyone else _._ But he doesn’t _crave it._ The trophy is reserved for the best in the class. The number one student. And Oliver has never been number one at anything in his life. He’s used to that by now. And losing the trophy to someone who clearly deserves it–and wants it–more than himself, that’s nothing to feel bad about.

Michaela, on the other hand, well she seems accustomed to the hateful looks being sent her way. She’s used to being number one. Oliver wonders briefly what that’s like.

_“I might as well hand you the trophy right now, Miss Pratt. But I won’t. Not until I see how the rest of you step up your game.”_

The look of disappointment on Michaela’s face as she watches Professor Keating walk away throws him in motion, and he hurries to catch her before she can leave as well.

“Michaela! Michaela!” He whispers loudly, just enough to catch her attention. The rest of their class bustle around them, eager to leave and get started on their assignment. From the looks of it, Michaela doesn’t want to be kept away either. “Um, hi.” Oliver says hesitantly.

“What do you want?” She asks with narrowed eyes that causes Oliver to second guess his decision to reach out to her. He nervously looks around them just in time to catch a smirk that Millstone sends his ways. 

“What you did,” he says softly, making sure no lingering students can overhear him. “Pretending to be a claims provider… you know that’s confidential information–it’s illegal.”

“That’s… a truly brilliant observation, Oliver.” She scoffs, mockery dripping from her sweet smile. She doesn’t bother waiting for a response before turning and walking away.

Oliver stares at her retreating form, high heels clacking gracefully on the floor. He feels like he must be missing something.

“Hey, wait!” He calls out after her, and rushes to catch up. “I’m just… really surprised Keating let it slide–I know it was good for the case but–”

“What are you doing?” She interrupts him, turning and bringing them both to a halt.

“Um… t-talking to a classmate?” Oliver stutters.

“No, Oliver. _What are you doing?”_ She asks slowly, as if he’s hard of hearing. “I’m used to being top of my class. I’ve worked my ass off my entire life to be the best. So I’m used to fellow classmates _pretending_ to be my friend, pretending to be nice to get on my good side, either to get me to help them out, or to get a favor out of me, or…” She straightens and glares him straight in the eye. “To sabotage me.”

“N-no!” Oliver’s eyes widen in shock. “That’s not–that’s not what I’m doing at all. I’m not trying to do any of that!”

She glares at him for a moment, before she sighs. “I know,” she finally says. “Which is why I find you so strange. And also, why I get the distinct impression that you’re out of your depth.”

Oliver feels his heart sink, and her words echo the very thoughts in his head. “Look, I was just–I was just trying to make friends, I guess. I’m not–I’m not trying to sabotage you or anything. I just–I don’t know, I thought maybe we could work together on the case, or something. You know, split up the prep work? Save us both some time?”   

Michaela’s eyes soften as she takes him in. But he can tell she doesn’t consider his offer for a second. “Look Oliver, you seem like a nice guy. But being the nice guy isn’t going to get you very far in this business. I’m going for the top spot here, and that means relying on my own merit… and doing it alone.”

Oliver frowns as he considers her words. “Well, I’m sure Keating will choose you for one of the four to work for her, like you said, you’re at the top of the class–”

“Getting a spot isn’t good enough.” She says it like it’s obvious, with a dark, desperate passion in her voice that Oliver has never had for anything in his whole life. “ _Winning_ is the point. I want that trophy. That trophy means you’re the best. The best student gets the best internship gets the best job that will set them up for life. _That’s_ what I’m after. Not to just be one of four.”

He hesitates, not knowing what to say next. He’s never been very ambitious. He’s never felt the passion that’s clear in Michaela’s voice, and it’s yet another reminder that once again, he doesn’t belong.

“What do you want?” Michaela asks curiously.

“Um, I don’t know,” Oliver shrugs awkwardly. “I guess I want the same things you just said–”

She raises a skeptical eyebrow. “What was your LSAT score?”

“Um… 179.”

“Hm. 180.” Her lips twitch upwards in the slightest of grins.

“Wow. Perfect score, that’s pretty hard to–”

“You’re smart, Oliver. But that’s not going to be enough. You need more than just brains to succeed in law school, you need ambition. Or else you’ll either be eaten alive, or worse, you’ll simply fade away like all the other losers who skate by on mediocre grades and end up making 50k a year at some boring company for the rest of their lives. So…” She tilts her head to the side as she considers him. “How badly do you want to be here?”

“I’m going to be honest, law school was… kind of a spur of the moment decision,” he say with a soft laugh. “I thought getting in was supposed to be the hard part. I don’t know, it just seemed like a good idea at the time. And I… I think this is what I want.”

“No one’s going to hold your hand and wait as you try to figure it out, Oliver.” She says softly. “What you’re saying tells me you don’t want it enough. And if you don’t want it enough, why the hell are you here?”

“I want to be here,” Oliver says firmly. “And what are you saying, I should quit?”

“I’m saying, you should figure out if you really want to be here, and do it quickly. I like you, Oliver–I think you’re smart. You might even make a good lawyer one day. But if this isn’t what you really want to do with your life, you’ll burn out long before then. If it’s any consolation, I think you do have what it takes. All you’re missing is the attitude.” Michaela adjusts the strap of her bag on her shoulder, and she gives him a soft smile, with just a hint of a smirk. “Also… I love a good competition.” 

Oliver’s gaze fixates on Michaela’s retreating figure as she walks away. What he wouldn’t give to have her confidence. To be someone who lives and breathes their passion. A glimmer of pride wells up inside him at the thought that she might consider him a worthy adversary. But it flickers out quickly as it appeared.

He does want to be here. 

For all his lack of self-confidence–which probably stems from early years of always being picked last for sports, being deemed the ‘nerdy Asian’, and never having a date who’d take him seriously (being gay doesn’t help)–he’s never actually failed at anything in his life. Sure he’s never had much ambition, and he’s never set his sights very high–getting rejected or dumped doesn’t count–but he’s never actually failed. School always came easy to him. His top choice for college just happened to be an Ivy League and he even got in with a scholarship. Too bad he never found a field he had a passion for. 

He was hoping law might be it.  

When he applied to Middleton, it was spontaneous. A top ten law school that just happened to be in his city. He didn’t even have to uproot his life. So he took a chance. He seized the moment. And maybe Michaela’s right. Maybe he does have what it takes. All he needs to do is a little more seizing…

Somehow that doesn’t exactly go according to plan. Because four hours later, he finds himself sitting alone in a bar, watching the slowly dwindling crowd, and feeling–as usual in this type of setting–invisible. 

Oliver sighs heavily as he gives his drink another half hearted stir. His watch tells him it’s a quarter past seven, and the happy hour crowd is starting to die down. He’s sure he looks pretty pathetic, sitting by himself, staring into his drink, too shy to make eye contact with anyone else. Truthfully, he’s not even sure what he’s doing there. It’s a nice, casual restaurant with a bar in the same building as Kaufman’s advertising agency. There are plenty of young people around his age mingling and chatting. And he feels like he should fit in, but instead he sticks out like a sore thumb.

He had worked up some crazy idea that he could ‘pull a Michaela’ and meet someone who worked at Kaufman’s firm. Maybe chat them up and get some insider details that could help the case. One thing he knows for sure, employees love gossiping about their bosses. And an attempted murder of the CEO? Definitely not something that happens everyday. It’s got to be the talk of the town. And he needs the details that their client couldn’t give them.

Now if only he could get the nerve to talk to someone.

He had spent the past hour staring at a group of suits huddled around a table near the bar. Loud, rambunctious, and clearly very familiar with the scene, Oliver is sure they work for the firm upstairs. But what is he supposed to do, approach the group of young men and randomly bring up their CEO who is supposedly the victim of a scorned mistress? He’s not exactly a smooth talker. He can just imagine the strange looks he’d get, and the embarrassment he’d feel when they laugh at him. That’s thinking positively too.

Oliver sighs and shakes his head. This was a horrible plan. Worst case scenario, they call him a freak and chase him out of the place. He’s just about to abandon all hope and head home when he happens to glance up at the table again, just in time to catch one of the men turning away from the group. And then Oliver’s breath catches in his throat. Because up until now, all he’d seen of this guy is the back of his head. Now that’s gotten a better look, he’s… well, gorgeous is an understatement. 

Oliver’s not generally picky about the men he dates, not that there have been many. He doesn’t consider himself a shallow person, but he does have eyes. And this one… this one is nice on the eyes. 

The man is heading towards the bar. Alone and away from the group, this would be the perfect opportunity for Oliver to make contact. 

So he stumbles out of his seat. Literally stumbles. And awkwardly walks over to the bar. Now he’s standing a mere few feet away from this guy, who hasn’t turned to look at him yet. But his palms are suddenly itchy and sweaty. His hands shake and he hasn’t even made a move yet. He feels like a nervous wreck and he’s sure anyone watching him can tell. The bartender helps a customer on the other side of the bar, which means now is the perfect moment for Oliver to say something. If only his heart would quiet down in his chest so that he could think of something to say.

The guy casually stares at the row of liquor bottles in front of them. Out the corner of his eye, Oliver can see his gaze start to wonder. A little to the right… a little more and… _shit–_ his gaze falls on Oliver. _Damn_ , this guy is even more gorgeous up close. Dark eyes, soft lips, and a jawline so sharp it could cut glass. Hair so perfectly coiffed Oliver wants nothing more than to run his fingers through it to mess it up.

But the man’s gaze softens when it lands on Oliver. And his lips curl up into a smirk as he considers him. Oliver doesn’t have the luxury of wondering what he’s thinking. 

 _Say something. Just say something. Ask if you can buy him a drink. He’s at the bar, clearly he wants a drink–the work is half done! Oh no…_ The man’s gaze has shifted into something almost predatory. His grin widens, and when he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, Oliver knows he’s done for. 

He stares, eyes wide, probably looking a bit like a deer caught in the headlights. His mouth has fallen open, but there is a severe lack of coherent sounds coming from it. _Say something. Anything. You’ve been awkwardly quiet for too long! Say words! Just ask about a drink. Just ask. Ask! Ask–_

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Oliver blinks, trying to clear the haze in his head and focus over the sound of rushing blood in his ears. The words echo, but he’s certain they didn’t come from him.

“Um, y-yeah. Th-thank you,” he stutters embarrassingly, his checks burning red.

“You looked like you were having trouble, so I thought I’d help you out.” The other man says with a smirk. “I’m Connor.”

“Oliver. I uh–I don’t usually talk to guys at bars that often… or like, ever.” He nervously wrings his hands together before he realizes what he’s doing and drops them to his sides.

He watches as Connor waves over the bartender and smoothly gives his order. And maybe while that’s happening he also notices how the other man’s back arches beautifully as he leans over the bar. His pert, tight ass perfectly accentuated in his suit pants. And now he’s staring. Whoops. He quickly shoves his hands in his pockets and forcefully lifts his gaze elsewhere, lest a moment of insanity overtake him and he reaches out for a squeeze… He’d die of embarrassment. How would he stumble over an explanation then?

“Maker’s Manhattan. Two cherries.”

Oliver glances down at the drink place in front of him. “Thanks,” he says with a nervous smile. “Um, do you uh–do you want to ch-chat?” He gestures awkwardly to the table he’d been sitting at by himself.

Connor nods and makes a motion like _lead the way._

Oliver gives himself a silent cheer in his head. “Um, what about your friends?”

“They won’t mind.”

And it’s true, a few of the guys Connor was with turn their way, but a few chuckles and a thumbs up is all they give.

Damn bros, Oliver thinks to himself.

“So uh…” Oliver nervously starts once they’re settled in. He forces himself to look up and make proper eye contact, but Connor’s dark gaze doesn’t make it easy for him. “I’m guessing you and your friends work in the advertising agency upstairs?”

Connor nods. “Is it that obvious? I’ve never seen you around here, Oliver. What do you do?”

“I–I uh…” Oliver wracks his brain for a good lie. “I work at the bank across the street. I’m kind of new in town, so I thought I’d come here and try to meet people,” he breaks off with a nervous laugh.

“Well, you met someone,” Connor says smoothly.

Oliver can’t help but grin in response. Never in a million years did he ever think a guy who looks like he came straight off a magazine cover would give him the time of day. And now they’re actually chatting. He could almost say it’s going well. 

He takes a shaky breath before he continues. “Can I–can I ask you something?”

Connor nods, an amused expression on his face. 

“Did you know um… did you know that secretary that tried to kill her boss with an aspirin?”

Connor’s eyes narrow and the grin drops off his face. “ _Supposedly_ , tried to kill her boss with an aspirin,” he clarifies. “Her boss being my CEO. The legal department was very clear they didn’t want anyone talking about that.”

Oliver swallows nervously and wishes he could read the expression on the other man’s face. He can’t tell if he’s about to be rudely told off.  “R-right. Of course. I–I’m sorry I asked.”

Connor seems to consider him for a moment before speaking again. “You don’t actually work at the bank, do you?”

Oliver’s eyes widen in a poor defense. “Of course I do!”

Connor simply raises a skeptical eyebrow. “What do you really do, Oliver?”

His heart sinks into his stomach and he sighs. Of course his pathetic excuse for a cover is blown. How did he ever think he could pull this off? “I–I’m a law student at Middleton. And I’m trying to impress my professor, who just happens to be Sadowski’s defense attorney.”

“ _You’re_ a law student?” Connor asks incredulously.

He’s almost offended for a second before he suddenly realizes that if this ever got back to Keating or the prosecution, he’d be in big trouble. “Shit, I–I shouldn’t have done this,” he says quickly. “Pretend this never happened, please. I–I could get in a lot of trouble for this. I’m so sorry–”

“Oliver, calm down,” Connor says gently. “I watched my older sister suffer through three years of law school, I’m not going to snitch.”

Oliver breathes a visible sigh of relief.

“Tell you what,” Connor says with a grin. “Why don’t you get the next round?” He gives his nearly empty glass a gentle shake. “You can keep trying to chat me up. And maybe, just  _maybe_ , a few details might slip out.” 

Connor winks at him and all of a sudden Oliver can’t even recall what details he had been trying to get out of him. He can’t remember the last time he’d ever been winked at before. But after a moment passes, he finally manages to get a hold of himself. He grins nervously, _genuinely_ , and heads back to the bar for round two.

The conversation continues much smoother when he gets back. Mostly because Connor seems to be purposely trying to get under his skin. And Oliver can be stubborn on the best of days.

“You do realize that the demand for lawyers has been slowly declining over the past decade, right? It’s not so prestigious anymore! All you folks graduating with your fancy 150k law degrees, half of you are going to be working for small companies, a dime a dozen, making barely above minimum wage!” 

Oliver flushes red as he remember’s Michaela’s words from earlier. “Those of us coming from top ten universities will still be well off! The number of graduates may outnumber the positions available, but there are _still_ positions available. You just have to be a competitive candidate!”

Connor snorts. “My sister went to Yale. She was one of the top of her class. And even she had trouble finding an offer she was happy with when she graduated.”

Oliver huff out a breath. “Well, maybe if she had gotten an internship with one of the best defense attorneys in the nation, it’d be a different story!”

“And _you_ have such an internship?”

Oliver frowns. “No, but I’m hoping to get one… with Keating.” He lowers his voice to a mutter, as if they could be overheard. “If I could just figure out some way to help with this Sadowski case.”

Connor grins wryly, but scoots an inch closer in his seat. “I didn’t picture you the lawyer type.”

“Oh? Why not?”

Connor shrugs his shoulders and grins, showing all his pearly white teeth. “I don’t know, lawyers are supposed to be badass, you know? You’re _cute_ , but you just don’t seem the type.”

Again, Oliver thinks he should be offended. “I–I can totally be the type,” he insists.

Connor chuckles louder than he should. 

“I can!”

The other man watches him for a moment. His grin drops and he leans forward, his voice barely above a low rumble. “She did it, you know. Gina? She tried to kill him.”

Oliver blanches. He wasn’t expecting the conversation to suddenly take such a serious turn. “How do you know?” He whispers, leaning closer.

“It makes sense,” Connor shrugs. “He starts the affair, she falls for him. They get caught, and it’s her reputation down the drain. She loses face, and her nice job. He gets to go home happily with his wife in their million dollar mansion.”

“That’s not enough to say she’s a murderer!”

“Well, for sure it wasn’t an accident. So someone did it.”

Oliver frowns but doesn’t say anything more. Someone did it. Doesn’t mean it was Gina.

“Does that bother you?”

“What?”

“That your professor might be defending a would-be murderer? That she might be guilty?”

“Of course it does!”

“Well, it shouldn’t,” Connor says smoothly. “Isn’t that what they always say–it’s not about who’s guilty or innocent, or who’s right or wrong, it’s about who tells the better version of the story.”

“Yeah,” Oliver says softly. “That’s what Keating told us in class.”

Connor smirks at him. “How are you going to be a defense lawyer if your conscience won’t let you defend the guilty?”

Oliver rolls his eyes. “I just–I won’t take the guilty ones as clients!”

“That’s not a luxury most lawyers can afford,” Connor says with a laugh and a shake of his head. “Even the ones from a top ten university. Besides, I’m sure in a few decades your job will be completely obsolete anyway.”

Oliver sputters indignantly. “What?”

Connor nods and finishes off his drink. “Being a lawyer is all about taking the evidence and compiling a convincing story. You know what else can do that, and for way cheaper? Computers.”

Oliver scoffs. “Taking evidence, compiling a story, to convince a _jury_ of _people.”_

Connor rolls his eyes. “Don’t even get me started on that.”

“You can’t be serious.” He has a feeling Connor is deliberately trying to get him riled up. Well, it’s working. But the back and forth banter also settles a nice warm, fuzzy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Not to mention, a computer would know all the laws of every district, state, and nation better than any human possibly could,” Connor continues. “I’m telling you, emotions and people only add a level of unnecessary complication to the process. Give it a few decades, I swear it!”

Oliver shakes his head. “No way. Not in our lifetime.”

“All I know is, I won’t be the one out of a job anytime soon,” Connor teases.

“Right, because IT is so prestigious.”

“Hey, programming’s on the rise, buddy! Computer’s are only getting faster and smaller! My field grows daily while your’s diminishes every year.”

“We’ll see,” Oliver says as he finishes the last few drops of his drink.

“Will we?”

Oliver glances up in surprise. Connor’s voice had taken on a low, seduction intonation, and it catches him off guard. It suddenly dawns on him that he had been sitting at a bar, having a real conversation with a really attractive guy, for _over an hour._ Was this a date? Does it count as a date? He doesn’t have much longer to wonder.

“What do you say we get out of here?”

Oliver blinks quickly. “Um… y-yeah sure–”

“Do you live around here?”

“Yeah, not far–just a few miles…”

“Let’s go!” Connor practically jumps out of his seat. “You can give me ride and continue trying to convince me a law degree is worth it in this day and age!”

“Um, don’t you have a car?”

“I parked it in the garage across the street. It’ll be fine.”

His nerves have returned with a vengeance as he leads them to his car parked out back. He’s not surprised in the least, because he’s with a gorgeous guy and he’s taking him back to his _apartment._ And even he’s experienced enough to know what that means. Given the way Connor’s tailored suit clings to his body, he’s getting the worst performance anxiety of his life before it even happens.

Thankfully, Connor seems perfectly content to lead the conversation as Oliver drives them back to his place. He’s mostly out of it the entire time–a complete bundle of nerves. He can’t even recall what they talked about during the car ride there. 

When they arrive though, Oliver flicks on the light switch and prays that his place is relatively decent looking at the moment. He hadn’t been expecting company when he left that morning. “I uh–I don’t usually bring home strangers that I meet at bars.”

“Let’s not be strangers then,” Connor says as he sets his work bag down and removes his jacket. “And you should live a little, Oliver.” He adds with a grin.

Oliver chuckles softly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m starting to get that. Um, can I–can I get you something to drink? I have juice, beer, some heavier stuff–”

“Actually water would be good,” Connor says keenly. “After a couple of drinks, I should probably hydrate before any strenuous activities.”

“What strenuous–oh.” Oliver mentally kicks himself in the ass. “Oh. Uh…” He lets out a shaky, nervous laughter as Connor steps closer. He can’t believe this happening. Guys like Connor _never_ go for guys like him. It’s practically a rule he’s learned since high school.

But Connor continues to step forward until he’s got Oliver pinned between himself and the counter behind him. Oliver’s wide eyes slowly flutter shut when Connor kisses him, soft and gentle at first. Until it becomes more passionate, and Connor presses his tongue against his lips, demanding entrance. Oliver parts them willingly. Connor’s arms wrap around his waist, pulling him closer. A hand travels upwards until it caresses the back of his neck, and plays with the short hairs at the base of his head. And when their groins touch, the softest of whimpers escape Oliver’s lips. 

It’s a kiss that leaves him breathless when they part. He hasn’t been kiss like that in… well, he’s never been kissed like that. 

Oliver feels like he’s about to pass out, his head’s spinning so fast. “Um… let–let me get you that water,” he stutters.

Connor grins as Oliver shimmies away from him. Oliver pours two glasses and hands one to the other man, downing the other glass entirely himself. 

“You’re nervous,” Connor murmurs as he sets his own glass down. He tugs on the back of the other man’s pants with a finger, pulling him along, and leading him out of the kitchen. “Don’t be.” He pulls them together for another kiss as they stumble into the living room. The kisses are slow, but deep. And when Connor bites down gently on his bottom lip, a whines escapes from deep in his throat. “I want you,” Connor whispers. “Do you want me?”

Oliver stares at him, breathless. Connor’s pupils are blown, and he’s sure his don’t look much different. “God, _so much_.”

Connor’s already undoing the buttons of his dress shirt, and he smirks–the very one that Oliver knew would be the end of him the second he lay eyes on it. “I bet I can show you a thing or two,” he murmurs as he reaches up to remove Oliver’s glasses, placing them gently on the coffee table.

The world gets a bit more blurry.

Clothes are tossed around Oliver’s living room, and finally Connor pulls them onto the couch, both in their boxer briefs. Connor is lean and toned, a runner’s body. And Oliver tries not to gape when the smooth, tan skin is revealed before him. But he probably does a bit. Connor pulls Oliver’s body on top of his own, and Oliver’s hands grasp the other man’s waist to catch his balance. 

Oliver stares down at him, still nervous, somehow feeling like an unexperienced teenager again. Connor watches him with lidded eyes. His tongue flicks out to lick his lips, and Oliver doesn’t miss the motion. 

“What do you want to do to me?” Connor asks, his voice low and seductive.

Oliver swallows the lump in throat. His eyes gaze down the expanse of flesh before him, finally coming to a rest on the tent in front of Connor’s boxer briefs. He slowly leans back until he’s kneeling on his legs. And he reaches out, hooks his fingers into the waistband and pulls them down his thighs and off, tossing them onto the floor. 

His mouth waters as he stares at Connor’s cock. Maybe he stares for too long– _it’s really been a while–_ because Connor has to urge him. “Get on with it,” he says softly.

He leans down, opens his lips, and sneaks his tongue out for an experimental lick. He runs his tongue around the head, before slowly letting it sink into his mouth. He hears a hiss escape Connor’s lips and the other man immediately buries his fingers in his hair. It’s been years since he’d had a dick in his mouth, and he tries to remember proper technique. 

Connor’s certainly not shy about being vocal though.

“ _Slow down, slow down… Yeah, yeah keep using your tongue like that, right on the underside–oh! Fuck!”_

He keeps sliding his mouth slowly _up and down,_  swiping his tongue from side to side, anything that pulls a gasp or hiss from Connor’s throat he does again and again. He licks a slow circle around the tip before sinking down again. Takes him so deep it brings tears to his eyes. His hand gently cups Connor’s balls, squeezing just gently enough to be pleasurable. 

“ _Oh god, do that again! Oh fuck yeah! Hm…”_

He hollows his cheeks and takes pride in the sounds that are torn from Connor’s throat. Connor’s back arches slightly from the couch, and from the way his balls are pulled tight to his body, Oliver knows he’s close. 

“ _You can play with my ass, too.”_

Well, Oliver hadn’t considered that. He coats his finger with a heavy dribble of saliva that had trickled down his cock, and gently traces the sensitive ring of muscle. A beautiful whimper escapes Connor’s lips as he slides the finger in. He pauses a second, and remembers with shocking clarity how tight it feels, before slowly thrusting his finger. Again he waits for the sounds to tell him if he’s doing well–the sounds are mind blowing. Connor’s not shy about being loud, same as he’s not shy about his body. Head thrown back, neck exposed, back arched, looking every bit like sin personified as Oliver sucks his cock and twists his finger inside him. And finally–finally he starts to come. He shakes and moans as he empties himself in Oliver’s mouth, and gasps lightly when Oliver drops him from his lips. 

Oliver sits back, wiping the dribble on his chin, and watches his face in awe. It’s hard to think of anything more gorgeous than Connor in his blissful afterglow, eyes closed and lips parted. He can’t help himself when he leans forward and captures his lips in a passionate kiss, pulls his lower lip into his mouth and releases it with a plot.

“That was pretty quick, I must not be as out of practice as I thought.” Oliver teases with a grin.

Connor laughs–a beautiful sight, and he opens his eyes to gaze at the man above him. “Don’t worry, it just means I’ll last longer when I’m fucking you.”

His surprise must be evident on his face. 

“You didn’t think it was over, did you? We’re just getting started,” Connor says with a grin and he pushes Oliver off him. He grabs him by the arm and pulls them both into the bedroom where they land on soft sheets. 

This time Connor climbs on top, and he smirks down at the man beneath him. “Where’s your lube?”

“Uh… bedside drawer,” Oliver says breathily. “Condoms too.”

Oliver hastily removes his boxer briefs as Connor rummages in the drawer. He tries not to be self conscious. He knows he has nothing to be embarrassed about. Except for maybe how long it’s been since someone actually saw him naked.

But Connor’s not shy as he ogles him. He quickly returns to his previous position, straddling the other man, and he leans down for a deep kiss, one that has Oliver arching off the sheets, a singular thought in his head: _he wants more._

“Turn over.”

Connor gently runs a hand down the contours of Oliver’s back. His fingernails gently rake down the soft skin, and he leans down, pressing wet kisses along his spine, starting at the base of his neck. Oliver shivers as he feels Connor’s lips travel lower, further and further down. Connor’s hands grip his hips tightly, and then the soft, wet sensation of a tongue running slowly over his hole has him jumping and gasping in shock.

_“Ah!”_

Oliver jerks involuntarily, but Connor’s hands firmly hold him in place. It feels _amazingly good._  Loud whimpers and filthy moans fill the room. It takes him a moment to realize they’re coming from himself. But his head spins, and he’s never felt anything like this before. Connor continues to drag his tongue over his hole, alternating between long strokes and tracing circles, tearing desperate whines and ragged gasps from Oliver’s throat every step of the way. And when his talented tongue pries deep _into_ Oliver’s body, it leaves him shaking and trembling.

“ _Fuck! Okay, okay you’re really good at that. Oh god! Ah!”_

Oliver pants deeply, trying to catch his breath. He shifts his hips, trying to get the other man to loosen his grip–his cock aches as it presses into the mattress.

Finally, Connor seems satisfied with the amount of teasing he’s given him. Oliver feels the man straighten behind him, that talented tongue leaves the cleft of his ass. He’s not even ashamed to admit he misses it. But soon after, Connor’s strong hands grip his hips, tugging him up onto his elbows and knees. And he gasps softly when he feels a cold sensation between his cheeks. A generous amount of lube easily allows Connor’s fingers to press into him. The mix of saliva and lube aids him well, and again Oliver whimpers softly into the pillow, groaning at the feeling of a finger moving inside him. 

Connor soon replaces one finger with two, and a few slow thrusts is all it takes for Oliver’s body to relax around him. A slight twist of his fingers–and Oliver jerks.

_“Ah!”_

Oliver’s hands fist the sheets beneath him. He can feel the other man expertly curling his fingers inside him as he stretches him out. He bites his lip as he fears his moans threaten to annoy the neighbors. His cock is hard and leaking between his legs, which shake and beg to give out. He huffs impatiently– _“I’m ready, alright? Just hurry up!”_

He glances behind him just in time to see a smirk grace Connor’s handsome features. “I didn’t take you for the impatient type.” Connor gently pulls out his fingers, leaving Oliver feeling achingly empty. He reaches for the condom, nimbly tearing the wrapper with his teeth, and rolls it onto his cock. Another generous dribble of lube and he’s lining himself up against Oliver’s entrance. 

Just for fun, he buries his finger in Oliver’s ass again, only to be rewarded with a muffled sound of irritation. He pulls his finger out and replaces it with his cock. The sound that Oliver makes is somewhere between a mewl and a gasp as Connor slowly eases into him. It hurts–at first–it always does. But he can hear Connor barely able to contain his own sounds of pleasure behind him. The other man holds still as he allows him to adjust. And slowly, _slowly_ Connor starts rolling his hips. It’s slow,  _but deep_. And their breaths pant in unison, all loud gasps and desperate moans. The bed begins to creak as Connor picks up the pace. 

“God you feel so good…” Connor murmurs into his ear.

He can only whimper in response. He feels Connor pull out, nearly all the way, and then slowly slide back until he’s buried to the hilt. He can’t help the wrecked, wheezy cry that escapes him. 

Connor shifts his hips to adjust his angle, and sure enough his thrusts have Oliver seeing stars. Oliver continues to make soft, wheezy gasps as he presses his own hips back–wanting more–and his body jerks in pleasure with every single thrust that Connor gives him. It’s been far too long since he’s had sex like this, with a partner who can make his toes curl and his eyes roll back into his head.

A warm body presses against his back, and he lifts his head from the pillow, glances over his shoulder just to be met with Connor’s lips in a deep kiss. They kiss, hard and rough, all teeth and tongue, as desperate, panting breaths escape their lips. Connor’s hands grip him tightly, steadying him, holding him close. A particular hard thrust has him seeing stars. 

He’s so close he can taste it. Every wonderful thrust of Connor’s hips brings him closer to the edge. And he continues to make incoherent sounds in the midst of shear agonizing pleasure.

And when Connor reaches around him and wraps a warm hand around his cock, a few firm strokes to the rhythm of his thrusts is all he needs. He makes a few short, jerky gasps against Connor’s lips. Until a ragged wheeze is torn from his lungs–he comes first–as expected. He clenches around Connor’s cock, even as the other man continues to pound _that spot_ inside him. His body jerks against Connor’s, but the other man’s got him, held tight in his arms. His cum spurts onto the sheets, and Connor holds him through the rest of his orgasm, as his loud moans break apart into soft, breathy whimpers. 

When the euphoria subsides and the haze in his head clears, beautiful moans filter into his ears, and he knows that Connor’s been pushed over the edge. Connor shakes and trembles against him, still holding him tightly. And finally, they collapse together, a breathless, boneless heap on the mattress.

Several moments pass before either of them can move. Connor eventually pulls away to discard the used condom. And Oliver lazily wipes away the mess he made with a few tissues.

“I’ve uh–I’ve never actually done that before,” he says once Connor’s returned to the bed. They’re still catching their breaths, chests heaving deeply as their skin cools in the air.

“What?”

“That thing with your tongue,” Oliver says softly.

Connor chuckles. “Never done it or received it?” 

“Both.”

“That’s a shame,” Connor says. “Told you I could show you a thing or two.”

Connor grins at him, eyes half lidded, exhaustion clear on his features. Oliver’s exhausted too, but he can’t help but stare. He finds the other man fascinating, and his eyes continue to travel over his features, desperately trying to memorize each and every one of them, for fear that Connor won’t want to see him again now that it’s over. His eyes falls on Connor’s messy mop of hair, sweat soaked and completely fallen out of place. He never did get to run his fingers through it.

He’s abruptly pulled out of his thoughts when Connor rises from the bed. 

“Are you leaving?” He didn’t mean for his words to sound so desperate, but there it is.

Connor suddenly looks like he’s caught between a rock and hard place. But then he lets out an awkward laugh and shakes his head. “No. No, of course not. Just using the bathroom.”

Oliver wordlessly drops his head back onto the pillow once Connor’s disappeared into the bathroom. It probably makes him pretty pathetic, but even if they never see each other again, he couldn’t stand it if Connor didn’t even give him the pretense of spending the night after sex. At least they could fall asleep together, even if the other man sneaks out in the middle of the night. 

“Whatcha thinking about?”

Connor’s voice brings him out of his thoughts, and he turns his head to see Connor climbing back into bed next to him, still shamelessly nude on top of the covers, whereas Oliver at least had the decency to cover his lower half with a sheet.

“You look pensive. It seems uncomfortable,” Connor jokes.

Oliver forces a smile and continues watching him silently. Eventually he shrugs, not really knowing what to say. He’s never done the awkward post-sex talk with a stranger before. “Just thinking about my day,” he finally says. “It was pretty crazy.”

“I bet it was awesome,” Connor chirps. “Thanks to yours truly.”

Oliver snorts. “Yeah, that would be a highlight… Hey um, can I ask you something?”

Connor nods his head lazily as he looks at him.

“Why did you talk to me in the bar? I mean, I was awkward and embarrassing, I–I don’t seem your type at all. And I lied to you. Why didn’t you tell me to fuck off?”

“I talked to you because I thought you were cute,” Connor answers. “I’m not sure what exactly you think my type is supposed to be… Hot? Smart? Great in the sack? Because I think you’re all of the above. And besides, it was adorable watching you stumble over your words.”

Oliver grins softly and feels his cheeks blush red. “I wasn’t that bad,” he grumbles.

Connor laughs in response. “You were awful. But once you got out of your shell, once you started talking,” he shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know, something clicked.” He shifts and sits up slightly, still leaning on his side as he watches the other man. “Look Oliver, my philosophy is, life’s too short to be shy and indecisive. You see what you want, and you go for it. I wanted you. Simple as that. So what do you want?” He asks softly.

Oliver takes a shaky breath as he considers the question. He chews on the inside of his cheek. What does he want? To ace his classes? To impress Keating? To have a good career? A family one day… a husband and a few kids maybe… To be healthy… To have a successful life. He always thought these were things that everyone wanted. It never seemed all that special or important to him. None of it ever stood out. 

He glances back up at Connor. And when they lock eyes, his heart jumps in his chest. Skips a beat, as they say. Connor still waits patiently for a response. 

“Get on your stomach.”

Connor raises an eyebrow but does as he’s told and flips over.

Oliver slowly climbs over him, kneeling between his spread legs. His eyes and fingers slowly run down the curve of the other man’s spine, until they rest on his ass, pert and round. He sighs softly as he admires it. 

“Can I?”

Connor chuckles softly. “I probably can’t cum again, but knock yourself out.”

Oliver grins as he reaches out for the round globes of Connor’s ass. One hand per cheek he kneads the soft flesh with his fingers, before gently spreading them. He brings his face close, and slowly, _slowly_ runs his tongue straight over his opening. Connor’s body tenses, then relaxes under him. But he doesn’t make a sound. Then, Oliver decides that he definitely wants to see just how loud Connor can be.

So he sticks with the simple motions for a while. Just long, slow licks right over Connor’s hole. It’s amazing that he can feel the sensitive ring of muscle twitch right under his tongue. And Connor’s body continues to loosen beneath him. His breaths grow quicker. “ _More, come on. Eat me out._ ”

Oliver’s willing to comply. He’s not quite sure what he’s doing, but he’ll rely on the sounds Connor makes to guide him. He spreads him a bit wider, and darts the tip of tongue as far as it’ll go– _“Ah fuck! Oliver!”–_ again and again he does it. But the other man seems to be getting a bit too worked up, so he soon returns to his previous long, slow licks. He grins as Connor grows visibly, vocally frustrated with him. 

He decides to switch tactics and reaches for the abandoned bottle of lube, dribbles it over his fingers, and starts working his index finger deep inside him, stretching him out, alternating between using his tongue and fucking him with his finger. 

It drives Connor mad.

Oliver’s pleasantly surprised to see the other man is hard between the legs again. Connor’s cock is angrily smushed into the mattress, a small wet spot visible on the sheets where he leaks onto them. 

Oliver curls his finger, looking for that sweet spot–and he knows it when he finds it because Connor nearly jumps in the air. He glances up, Connor’s mouth is slack, lips parted wide, eyes closed as he writhes against the mattress, fingers curled into the pillow. His eyes flicker back down to the man’s ass, where his finger is still buried deep.  

“You want to cum again?” He murmurs softly as he continues to thrust his finger smoothly, his tongue flutters out to lick the hole where it’s stretched around his digit.

_“Fuck! Ah–hmm god yes!”_

Oliver grins and stares entranced by the sight before him. He can’t get enough of it. He curls his finger over and over, stimulating his prostate from the inside. He can tell–he sees it–as Connor grows amazingly closer to the edge. He reaches his tongue out again, runs the flat of it over his perineum–

_“Ah fuck! Oliver!”_

He thrusts his finger quicker and quicker, continues to flutter his tongue around his hole and back down to where his sac is pulled tight to his body. When he finds the right way to make Connor scream– _“Oh god! Ah! Oliver! Fuck!”_ –he does it again and again until Connor’s shaking and crying, spasming around him. 

Oliver tilts his head as he watches the other man’s still body where he’s collapsed. No movement save for the rise of his back as he catches his breath. There’s not much physical evidence of his orgasm. But Oliver considers it another win in his favor as he wipes his finger on the sheets. He slowly clambers over the other man, presses soft kisses along his back and shoulder, then up to his cheek and lips. He runs his hand gently through Connor’s messy hair, the long strands feel silky as he threads them between his fingers.

Connor doesn’t say a word, completely out of it, as Oliver adjusts the covers around them. Nor does he move. He only murmurs unintelligible nonsense when the bed moves from Oliver’s weight. Just before he turns of the lights, Oliver glances at the other man’s face. His features are as gorgeous asleep as they are when he’s awake. Oliver grins softly to himself and clicks off the light. He snuggles into the covers, even pulling the other man’s slumbering body into his arms. It feels nice. They _fit._ And somehow, Oliver goes to bed feeling happier and more confident than he’s felt in a long time. 

So he drifts off to a restful sleep, Connor still plastered to his side, until he suddenly finds himself wide awake at–he glances at the clock beside him– _3:49 AM._

He blinks in the dark, unsure of what woke him. Then he knows. 

“Connor! Connor, wake up!” He whispers. 

“Mmm.”

He gives the other man’s arm a gentle shake. “Connor? Wake up!”

“No,” the other man grumbles. “I came three times, I’m not getting it up again.”

Oliver chokes back an undignified snicker, but continues to shake the other man’s arm. “Um no, not that.” He sits up in the bed and reaches over the turn the light on, which simultaneously throws Connor off of him.

As light floods the room, Connor continues his vocal protests, burying his face in a pillow. “You’re really making me regret breaking my rule about not spending the night,” he grumbles.

Oliver can’t help but grin as he speaks. “So I was thinking about the Sadowski case, and how I can help! If I could find another suspect to offer the jury, it could be good for our client!”

Connor lifts his head from the pillow to squint at him. “I thought you didn’t want to help her. ‘Cause she more than likely tried to kill her husband, remember?”

“I know. I know. But we still have no proof whether or not she did it. Maybe she is innocent! Maybe she isn’t! But none of it matters. Our job–the defense’s job–is to find a way to free our client. And that’s what I’m going to do.”

Connor stares at him confused. “So what do you want me to do?”

“Look. Arthur Kaufman, big shot CEO of a huge advertising agency. He’s literally worth millions. Which means he’s got to have enemies. His wife, angry about the affair, stands to inherit everything from his death. And–and he’s got to have partners at the firm that could gain sole ownership of the entire company with him gone! I mean, the possibilities for other suspects are endless! Any one of them could easily throw a jury!”

Connor frowns. “You’ve got no suspects if you’ve got no evidence.”

“That’s where you come in. I’m thinking that you could hack into Kaufman’s corporate email account. There’s bound to be incriminating emails that the prosecution is hiding from us.”

Connor snorts and drops his head back to the pillow. “You want me to hack into my own CEO’s corporate email account? And get fired?”

“If you know what you’re doing, you’ll never get caught!” Oliver exclaims. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

“Of course I do. Doesn’t mean I’m keen on breaking the law for you.”

“Come on,” Oliver presses. “I thought you were all about living a little.”

Connor stares at him and reluctantly groans. “Grab my laptop,” he gestures half heartedly towards the living room.

Oliver grins at his success as he hops out of the bed, so thankful that Connor had brought his work bag with him. He’s sure they could find evidence that could easily sway a jury. And if Michaela can work outside the law for a case, then so can he.

Connor’s laying nearly diagonal on the bed when he returns, his face smushed into Oliver’s pillow.

“Move! Come on!” And he hands the computer to the half asleep man next to him. 

“Just this once,” Connor mutters. “And you can’t tell anyone.”

Oliver eagerly watches as Connor’s fingers fly across the keyboard. He took one Java elective in high school, but it doesn’t do much to help him follow along. It looks like the other man is opening a script or running some sort of program to gain access to a network. How it works he has no idea. But it doesn’t take him terribly long. 

“Password obtained,” Connor says, just a hint of smugness in his voice, barely masked by his tiredness.

“Wow, really?” Oliver scoots an in closer to get a better look. “That was quick.”

Connor hands him the computer and then proceeds to bury his face in the other man’s arm. “I told you a pro at network security.”

Oliver grins, watching the other man almost immediately drift off. He turns back to the computer and quickly scans over the first few emails. He’s only got a slight idea of what he’s looking for, anything from the wife or his lawyer, or any of his business partners regarding the status of the company. Anything that hints at a motive to kill and points to a different suspect will work.

Eventually he stumbles on a flagged email dated a week prior to the incident. It’s from Kaufman’s business partner, Lionel Bryant. It turns out there’s a whole chain of emails between the two, clearly hinting at some bad blood between them.

His eyes narrow as he reads the emails.

_“Dear Arthur. Consider this my official request that you step down as CEO. I’ve warned you about having sexual relation with employees of this company and have grown frustrated with your refusal to stop…”_

A grin slowly spreads on his face. He turns to the man sleeping next to him. Connor’s already fast asleep with his face smushed unattractively against his arm, snoring softly. Oliver sends him a silent thank you and gently lays him back onto his pillow. He gets out of bed, laptop in hand, and silently pads over to the living room where he hooks it up to his printer. 

He’s feeling ecstatic. For once, he’s gone above and beyond. And damnit he’s proud that he’s managed to do something for the case that he doubts even Michaela had thought of. So he grins as he rereads a few of the emails that had printed. This is sure to help turn the case in their favor, and sure to put him on Annalise’s radar. He’s glances back towards the bedroom as the printer finishes its work. He can hardly believe today was actually a success. 

And he knows he has a certain someone to thank for that. 

There’s only a few hours left before sunrise. So he closes Connor’s laptop, carefully tucks the print outs into his bag for the next day, and crawls back into bed. He stares at Connor’s slumbering face for a while in the dim moonlight that shines through the window. He’s not even feeling a little tired. But he forces himself to close his eyes and relax, the morning will be here before he knows it.

Sure enough, the moonlight slowly turns into sunlight, and Oliver eventually wakes to an empty bed. He rolls over with an arm reached out, only to find empty sheets next to him. The sheets hadn’t quite cooled yet, and the lingering scent of cologne that doesn’t belong to him invades his nostrils. Without needing to looking around, he knows immediately that his apartment is empty.

He sighs heavily as he stares at the ceiling. His arm brushes against a dry, crusted spot on the sheets, a reminder of their activities from the previous night.

He had prepared for this. Guys like Connor don’t attached themselves to guys like him. But still, he couldn’t help but get his hopes up.  

Sunlight streams in from the open window and he knows he has to get up soon. Or else he’ll be late for Keating’s class. He tries to think positively as he sits up and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. He remembers he’s actually got something to be excited about. 

As he happens to glance at his bedside table, right next to his clock sits a small scrap of paper with an unfamiliar scrawl. He picks it up curiously.

_Don’t be a stranger._

_215-687-0300_

_Connor_

Oliver grins as he stares at the scribble for a moment, hope arising anew in his chest. He’s not going to over think it, as he usually does. He’s not going to agonize over whether or not this boy likes him. He’s going to take it day by day, and keep taking chances. So he quickly pockets the note and rushes around his apartment to get ready.

After all, he’s got a class to impress.

And that’s certainly what happens when Annalise tells them all the case went well–no doubt do to _Mr. Hampton’s_ hard work.

Oliver grins, his heart jumping quickly in his chest–for a good reason this time. A rush of adrenaline courses through him and he no longer feels shy at the hoard of faces looking his way–many of them in envy.

“How’d you get that email?”

Oliver glances behind him to see Michaela, surprise evident on her face. He grins widely. “I took your advice, made a choice… and decided that I want it enough.”

Michaela scoffs, but there’s a hint of a grin underneath her scowl. “Whatever, I’ll still crush you in torts,” she says, right before she walks away.

Oliver chuckles as he watches her exit. His heart still warms from the rush of excitement and he takes a deep breath. He can do this. He can. It’s amazing, but he doesn’t feel quite so out of place anymore. 

Maybe he’s finally found his passion. And that’s a great feeling.

He reaches for the crumbled slip of paper that had been sitting in his pocket all day. He takes out his phone and his nimble fingers type in the number scrawled by his guest that morning.

His heart pounds eagerly in his chest as he listens to the ring tone. Three rings later a familiar voice picks up.

_“Hello?”_

“Hi Connor, it’s Oliver. I was wondering if you’d like to go to dinner with me…”

**Author's Note:**

> [x](http://winters-blue-children.tumblr.com)


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